


Windweight

by Fishwrites



Series: Watercast [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Centaurs, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Interspecies Romance, Love at First Sight, M/M, Protectiveness, Rescue, Tenderness, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishwrites/pseuds/Fishwrites
Summary: Yuri is an Avian who crash lands in a forest after trying to pull off (or out of) an overly ambitious dive.Otabek is a lone centaur who was just minding his own business.(Set in the Watercast universe, but you don't need to read that at all for this! Plot totally separate.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the story for an artbook collab with [Maccalon](http://maccalon.tumblr.com/)! The graphic novel will be available soon, keep an eye out!

__ "Fate leads him who follows it,   
_ and drags him who resists"  _ __  
\- Plutarch

* * *

 

It was hard to talk while flying. 

It probably said something about Yuri’s stamina that he could keep up a stream of swearing all the way out to the trees. 

It was a constant battle for breath;lungs hurting almost all the time...especially one’s wingspan was not quite large enough for gliding all day. Most, like Yuri, actually had to  _ work _ to stay in the air. None of the high-fliers at the Garrison knew how easy they had it.  _ Winged dinosaurs _ , thought Yuri, fat and lazy, the whole lot of them. They took landings like giant sailboats too, carving up the grass with the heels of their boots or needed five wingspans each to land safely. Couldn’t even get off the ground without a huge ledge to jump off. 

Shouldn’t be allowed to fly. Should stay permanently on the ground and just walk, instead of looming above everyone with  _ normal _ wingspans. Not like they could fly that fast anyway. 

“Fucking rude,” Yuri muttered to himself, keeping a steady hover.  

_ Hovering he could do. _ Yuri was born to do it; and the genetic advantage had catapulted his competition scores for the last few years so that he was always flying (ha!) comfortably above his peers. There weren’t many hummingbirds around. 

But Yakov’s rants about strengthening Yuri’s diving technique had steadily grown in volume and frequency over the past year, especially as they were nearing the  _ Grand Prix.  _

“You’re not going to be this light forever,” Yakov had said earlier that day, “You get complacent now and you can say goodbye to your medals once you hit your growth spurt!”

“I’ve already had my fucking growth spurt!” had been Yuri’s reply, “I got all my flight feathers when I was ten!”

“You know exactly what I mean, Yuri,” roared Yakov, “If you don’t work on your pull outs you’re going to pass out wiffling!”

“I don’t pass out!” 

“That’s because you pull out of your dives too soon, and way too slowly!” said Yakov, “From down here it looks like you’re a duck. A  _ duck _ . I will not coach a duck Yuri.”

_ Too soon, _ thought Yuri, stretching his arms until it pulled nicely at the joints, _ I’ll show you ‘too soon’, old man. _

The landscape stretched out underneath him; a thick carpet of green brown and yellows. Yuri didn’t much like water, and hated practicing his dives above the lake back home. He also didn’t want anyone to witness any tumbles, and so escaped practice to come out by himself. 

Behind him, the mountains curved half way to the horizon. There were clouds, low and heavy with promised rain. And where the trees thinned here and there, Yuri could see the tell-tale smoke and dotted cattle that signalled the outskirts of towns and villages. 

He’d been out here for two hours now, and the strain along his back and shoulders was starting to  _ really _ hurt. Out above the forest, it wasn’t like he could really land anywhere. There would probably be hell to pay in cramps later tonight, but it would be worth it tomorrow when Yuri turned up to practice and out-dived all the falcons. 

Yuri re-tied his hair quickly, and wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. Then he flapped down hard, throwing his head back as he quickly climbed higher, the air biting at his skin. The rain would be here soon. Perhaps even snow - he could see patches of white and bare-tree branches here and there below him. 

One more dive and he would head back.

Yuri allowed himself a few moments to get his breath back, staring up at the smooth dome of the sky. It wasn’t that he was  _ bad _ at diving. It was the staple of every repertoire, and Yuri’s entries were as smooth and neat as Viktors. It was the exiting that was the problem; those last few moments rushing towards earth. 

_ You’ve got to learn to hold your nerve, _ Yakov would say.

And it was easy for him to say, thought Yuri. It was just easier to pull out of a dive with falcon wings because, contrary to popular belief, none of them actually mirrored their better-made avian cousins... _ actual _ birds. Pull out of a dive or a wiffling turn too late and there was a high chance you couldn’t pull out of the descent at all. And all it took was for one break or bad sprain to end a career. 

What finesse Yuri’s small build and hummingbird shoulders gave him in flight, it also took away in wingspan. 

He stared at the ground far far below his feet. 

“What are you waiting for?” he muttered to himself, “you scared?”

No one answered. Up here, there need not be any wind for it to howl. 

Taking one last breath, Yuri hunched forward his shoulders, tucked his ankles, and arched up into a dive. He threw himself backwards, completing the initial flip with no issues; wings narrow enough that his hip never caught it. Yuri twisted left, arms tight to his chest as he snapped his wings back in and spiralled in a straight vertical dive. He locked his knees to keep his legs straight and toes pointed, closing his eyes as he counted the rotations. His sleek feathers, glossy smooth, protected his face from the screeching wind. 

... _ four, five, six, seven, eight  _  –

Yuri couldn’t help himself, his eyes flew open with a gasp. 

The green below was rushing forwards, details growing larger and larger. 

_ Hold... _

His shoulders twitched with the instinctive urge to spread his wings out, to break the dive. The distraction was enough to make him falter, and fumbled the last spin. 

_...your… _

Yuri gritted his teeth. 

_...nerve _ .

The canopy was rushing towards him now, a dizzying detail of leaves and branches and shadows.  _ Too close. Too close!  _ Panic seized him and Yuri let out a yell as he snapped his wings out. The air hit his back with a hard slap that brought his wings forwards past his shoulders, and Yuri twisted sharply to right himself. 

There was a sudden but familiar  _ pressure-pull _ as the blood in his head seemed to vaporise. The sensation tugged viciously like a fishhook to the bottom of his lungs, and Yuri’s vision went abruptly grey as he arched up out of the dive, wings beating hard to gain height –

Yuri blacked out before he hit the trees.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuri woke, it was to a faceful of leaves, a tilted horizon and excruciating pain. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” he croaked, trying to blink a sticky wetness out of his eyes. He moved to wipe his face with one hand, and something shifted ominously, his entire body lurching backwards. It pulled what felt like a broken ankle, and Yuri almost bit his tongue off trying to hold back his scream. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Yuri muttered, trying to focus on swearing rather than the nausea. There was definitely something very wrong with his leg. 

Yuri  twisted his head, trying to reorient himself without moving. The sound of his own breaths was overwhelmingly loud; that and the buzzing in his ears. He could hear the constant swish-creak of trees and thin leaves. Something warm and wet trickled down the side of his neck and across his cheek, steady and irritating. 

He seemed to have crash-landed through the canopy; right through most of the upper layers given the lack of leaves in season. Yuri could feel the strain on his shoulder blades where his wings had caught awkwardly between the larger branches. They were half spread, his feathers bent to shit and tangled up with the leaves and smaller branches. 

When Yuri tried to shake his right wing free and winch it back in, but realised, a moment too late, that being tangled up had kept his weight spread. There was the soft  _ crack _ of wet branches and then Yuri was swinging towards the trunk of the tree, arms flailing. The momentum, combined with the weight of his entire body, pulled harshly on his leg - the one still stuck in the V of two branches. 

Yuri screamed when something  _ popped _ in his ankle. 

“ _ Дерьмо́! _ ”

He felt like he was going to pass out again.

All the blood was rushing to his head as he hung almost vertically upside down, one wing free and flapping in panic whilst the other was still half hooked around a branch. Yuri’s left leg wasn’t stuck, but his right was fucked - the thin curved blade on his boot having sunk into the wood. He would have to either climb himself upright, or take his boot off to release his leg. 

But Yuri dared not move; not wanting to make the strain any worse. His inhales were sharp and breathy, his vision fogged with tears. He still felt like he was going to throw up, so he probably hit his head hard on the way down. 

“Calm down Yura,” he spat, grabbing for a branch and pulling himself up with a grunt of pain, “just need to get your stupid leg free and then you can fly home. Get your leg fixed up before anyone fucking noti- _ fuck!” _

He hugged the branch with both arms, scrunching his face up with the pain of moving. The branch wasn’t very thick, and it bowed dangerously with his weight...but did not break. Heart in his throat, Yuri pulled himself slowly along the branch so that he was almost horizontal with his trapped leg. He tried grabbing onto a higher branch, but it was too thin and snapped cleanly in his hand. 

Shaking his hair from his face, Yuri inched slowly towards the trunk of the tree, arching his back until there was enough distance for him to pull his second wing free. 

“Finally,” he said, rotating his shoulder. It was going to hurt for at least a few days, he thought bitterly. But not as much as his fucking leg was going to hurt. 

It started to rain. 

Gritting his teeth, Yuri tried pressing his weight into his ankle in the hopes of easing the blade  out of the branch. 

The pain made him  _ sob,  _ wings twitching violently with the firebrand hurt. His hands slipped on the damp wood, and Yuri felt his stomach lurch sickeningly, before he managed to swing his elbow up and around the body of the branch. 

Okay, so the boot was probably a loss.  _ Fine. _ He could get another pair. He just had to get these off so he could get out of the stupid tree. Except he wasn’t sure he actually could reach his boot without passing out. 

Yuri was all set to wrench his foot upwards and  _ damn _ the pain - maybe he would conveniently fall out of the tree. It didn’t look that far down. He took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“...allo?”

The voice surprised Yuri into a full bodied flinch, and he lost his tenuous grip on the slippery branch. He swung backwards, wings snapped out on reflex, back hitting another branch hard. 

If he hadn’t braced himself against the tree with the sole of his good leg, Yuri probably would have passed out again. As it was, he wished he had.

“Муда́к!” he screamed, trying to get his hand around the nearest twig, “...The  _ fuck!  _ Who are you, sneaking up on people I’m -  _ fuck! _ ”

The stranger came into Yuri’s field of vision. 

For a moment, Yuri thought he might have passed out after all...because this wasn’t a human. He  _ looked _ human enough  from the waist up; asides from slightly pointed ears. But below that, he had the body of a horse - four legs, hooves, the whole lot. It was hard to judge in the low light, but the stranger appeared as tall as horses might have been from the shoulder; his fur the same dark colour as his hair. He was wearing a plain brown shirt, and had a giant bow and arrow slung over his shoulder. 

They simply stared at each other, wide eyed, upside down. 

“Otabek,” said the stranger.

Yuri stared some more.

“What?” he said. 

“I’m Otabek,” said the stranger. He tilted his head, as if trying to orient himself the same way up as Yuri. “...You asked.”

“ _ No shit? _ ” said Yuri, a little hysterical,  “You’re a fucking centaur! I thought you lot all died out ages ago!”

Otabek blinked at him.

There was a long, awkward silence.

Yuri wasn’t sure if the heat in his face was from embarrassment or from holding ninety percent of all the blood in his body. 

Finally, Otabek said:

“Maybe. I haven’t seen any others.” He shifted; hooves silent on the mossy forest floor. “I haven’t seen an Avian before either. Not up close. I heard you screaming.”

He peered up at Yuri’s leg. His eyes wandered back down to Yuri’s feathers. 

“You’re stuck.”

“Am not,” said Yuri automatically. 

Otabek gave him a flat stare. He didn’t raise his eyebrow, but somehow communicated the same tone of polite disbelief.  _ Freaking centaur druid magic _ , thought Yuri. He knew the stories. His grandpa had lots of them. 

“Just resting,” said Yuri. He wanted to fold his arms but he couldn’t, since it was all that was keeping his ankle from holding all of his weight, “Flying is tiring, you know. Takes effort. And skill. Mostly effort.”

“You’ve got blood all over your face,” said Otabek, coming closer. He pressed one warm palm against Yuri’s cheek, dragging the pad of his thumb under his eye. His hand came away damp and red. Yuri was going crossed eyed, trying to see. He twitched when Otabek’s hand moved to cup the back of his neck, and Yuri hissed when he touched something sore.

“And you hit your head.”

“Yes, obviously,” said Yuri, “That’s why I’m resting. I’ll be flying away soon. Don’t need your help.”

Otabek took his hand away.

They stared at each other some more. Yuri tried not to blink, but the rain was getting straight into his eyes, and he was slowly but surely losing his grip on the branch. His shoulders ached, his wings weighed down by damp feathers; getting soggier by the minute. 

“Well?” said Yuri, voice strained, “Како́го ху́я ты ещё тут стои́шь?”

“...I thought you were flying away,” said Otabek. 

The rain dripped down Yuri’s neck and across his face. His hand was shaking with the exertion. Maybe he had hit the trees harder than he thought, and this entire encounter was a hallucination. A dream. That was the only explanation why Yuri was hung upside-down talking to a  _ centaur. _

A howl broke through the trees. A beat later, it was joined by two others; soft and chilling. 

_ Wolves _ .

Otabek snapped his head around at the sound; eerily still. He turned back to Yuri. 

“Come on,” he said, stepping up close, “We have a food chain to outrun.”

Yuri screwed his eyes shut. 

“Fine,” he said at last, “...I’m stuck. My leg is busted and I can’t reach... _ fuck. _ ”

“Hang on tight,” said Otabek, swinging his bow, arrow and what looked like three dead rabbits over his shoulder. He set them down on the forest floor. 

“I’m going to get your leg free and then you let go, okay?”

Yuri clung tighter to the branch. Somewhere over their shoulder, there came another howl. It made Yuri’s under-wing feathers stand on end. 

“Let go?”

Otabek shifted a few steps away from the tree. 

“I’ll catch you,” he said.

“No you won't!” exclaimed Yuri.

Otabek ignored him. When he reached up, his hand could just touch Yuri’s back, between his wings. 

“Hold on tight,” he said, giving Yuri a push up with his hand, “This might hurt.”

“Don’t  _ tell me, _ just do -” 

Yuri’s words broke off with a yelp of pain as Otabek reared up on his hind legs and leaned up against trunk; the weight of him making the entire tree shudder. It vibrated all along Yuri’s broken leg with a  _ jolt. _

Otabek was head and shoulders taller now, and easily pulled Yuri’s flight-boot free from where the blade had sunk deeper and deeper into the wood. The centaur wrenched it free, and Yuri bit down on an aborted scream. 

Yuri could taste blood in his mouth. As all the weight was transferred to his arms, his wings snapped out on instinct, but the wood slipped through his hands completely. He fell with a lurch, and - 

Otabek caught him neatly on the way down, one arm beneath his knees and the other below the wings. The centaur thudded back to four legs, the tree showering them vengefully with branches and freezing water. 

Someone was whimpering;  high pitched wheezes of breath. 

“You’re okay,” Otabek was saying through a faceful of feathers, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

It took far too long for Yuri to realise it was him making the pathetic noise. It was worse than that time when he got wing cramps for an entire evening. 

He tried to winch in his wings so the bone wasn’t pressing uncomfortably against Otabek’s face. His wing ended up half pinned between his shoulder and Otabek’s chest.

Yuri was hyper-aware of the arm across his back and under his knees. Avians ran hot, but Otabek was a long line of heat against Yuri’s left side. 

The centaur was staring at him again. Up close, he smelled like wood, fire and resin. 

“You can put me down now,” said Yuri.

“I thought you’d weigh more,” said Otabek, shifting Yuri more securely in his arms, “Very light.”

Before Yuri could reply, they were interrupted by another set of howls - closer, this time. Otabek frowned. 

“Okay,” he said, “You’ll have to ride me.”

Yuri’s eyes bugged.

“ _ What?” _

Otabek shifted, folding his front legs so that they were suddenly a lot closer to the ground. Gently, he set Yuri down, being careful to keep his bad leg from holding any weight. 

“Quick,” he said, “On my back.”

“On your back?” said Yuri, “Are you crazy?”

Otabek gave him another poker-faced stare. This one screamed incredulity. 

“Do avians not ride? Swing one leg over; then hold on to me. I can’t run properly if I’m carrying you in my arms.”

“Avians fly,” said Yuri, waving his arms, “We - “

Another howl. Something shifted in the shadows, peeling away like the wind. Yuri gulped. 

“Are you coming?” said Otabek. 

Yuri swung his injured leg gingerly across the centaur’s back - the fur was soft and very warm under his hands - before positioning himself so that all he could see was the back of Otabek’s head. 

“Arms around me,” said Otabek impatiently, “Tight.”

“...I’m going to die,” said Yuri, wrapping his arms equally gingerly around Otabek’s stomach. 

Otabek shouldered the strap of his weapons, swung the rabbits over his other shoulder, and straightened. 

Yuri clung on, feeling the unfamiliar shift of muscles between his legs, the strange height. He tucked his wings as close to his back as possible. Since he was no longer hanging upside down, all the blood in his body was slowly flowing back to his legs - and if possible, it was hurting even more than it had just a few moments ago. 

Otabek made a sudden twist, side stepping a tree and letting loose an arrow into the forest. There was a bark in response; a yelp. Another chorus of howls. 

“What are you  _ doing? _ ” said Yuri.

“Buying time,” said Otabek, “Hold tight.”

And then they were running, the motion of it almost making Yuri slide right off the side of Otabek’s flank if he hadn’t hadn’t been hanging on for dear life. It was  _ nothing _ like flying; the rhythm was all wrong and he could feel the shuddering  _ thud-shift-thud _ of all four of Otabek’s hooves. Each exhale was a gasp of pain as his leg bounced and jolted, and Yuri buried his face in Otabek’s neck. 

He could still hear the howling, the sound interrupted by the way Otabek would swerve and stop, changing directions. Branches and trees kept catching on his feathers, no matter how tightly he folded them down to his back - and Yuri yelled right into Otabek’s ear when a sudden swerve slammed his leg up against a tree.

“Sorry,” Otabek grunted, “Sorry - “

“Дерьмо́,” hissed Yuri, not looking, not looking at anything, “It’s fine - I'm fine -”

“Nearly there,” said Otabek. 

Then they broke through the fringe of the trees, and Otabek’s shoulder pulled back with the bow. There was a sharp whistle, followed by a yelp of pain, before they were crashing back into the forest again. They ran like that for a little while before Otabek began to slow down. Yuri was barely hanging on. 

He risked peeking up over Otabek’s shoulder. 

“Did you kill them?” he said.

Otabek shook his head. His chest was heaving from the run, but he seemed calm.  

“Just warn,” said Otabek, hooking the bow over his shoulder once more, “Don’t like to kill.”

Yuri pulled on the centaur’s pointed ear. Otabek didn’t stop, but he did twitch. It was an odd sensation that seemed to go through his entire back and down to his tail.  

“Don’t like to kill?” said Yuri, incredulously, “They were going to have us for dinner! Or just me. They could probably smell my blood.”

“Maybe,” said Otabek, shrugging. “They don’t usually attack me. But it’s colder this year. They must be hungry.”

“No shit,” said Yuri, looking behind them worriedly. He could barely see anything through the dark. 

“Or avians smell better,” said Otabek. “Wolves like to eat the pheasants sometimes, you know. And chickens. But normally they don’t bother.”

“...chicke - We’re not  _ actual birds!” _ said Yuri, slapping Otabek hard across the shoulder. “They...they probably wanted to eat your fat horse ass!”

There was a pause. 

The forest was less dense here, and the rain was plastering his hair and feathers down. The adrenaline was slowly wearing off too, and Yuri felt like the weight of his flight boot was doing its darndest to fully dislocate his ankle. His wings were droopy too, almost but not quite touching the ground. 

They emerged into another clearing, having followed a brook where it diverged from the river. In the middle of the clearing sat a sturdy looking house made from broad timber. It was fairly big, with a high door frame and square windows. 

“Watch your head,” said Otabek, and they both ducked under the main beam to get inside, where Otabek quickly set about lighting the lamps. With the door closed, out of the wind and rain, everything was suddenly a lot quieter. 

Otabek was wiping his hooves and his legs against a rug pinned to the floor and wall. He side stepped to stand near to a plain hard-wood table. With shaky legs, Yuri pulled himself onto the table and off Otabek’s back, hissing at the movement to his injured leg. That and he felt as if his thighs and arse was never going to feel the same again. 

From this position, the centaur was a lot taller than he first appeared, and Yuri unconsciously shook out his feathers...before realising that he was puffing up and quickly smoothed them down flat again. 

Otabek was rummaging in some cupboards hanging on the wall, and he returned moments later with two rolls of cream-white bandages, a clear bottle and a few long wooden spoons. 

Yuri pointed at the spoons with an accusing finger.

“What,” he said. “If you try to eat me, I’ll fucking claw your eyes out.”

Otabek’s eyebrows twitched, every so slightly. 

“It’s for splinting,” he said, gesturing at Yuri’s leg, “I don’t eat hummingbirds.”

“Oh,” said Yuri, tension draining out of his shoulders. He could feel his face flushing with embarrassment. “Well how was I to know. You’re holding cooking oil!”

Otabek put the bottle on the table.

“Alcohol,” he said, still in that same calm tone, “You’ve got cuts. Back of your head.”

His hand hovered over Yuri’s knee.

“You need to elevate this,” said Otabek, “And take the boot off. Can you, or …”

Grabbing one of the spoons, Yuri held the handle between his teeth. Then he nodded at Otabek and braced himself.

 

Taking the boot off almost tipped Yuri back into unconsciousness. As it was, he bit down hard on the spoon and let the wood muffle his shouts of pain. His wings jerked in sympathy, and at one point he knocked a pile of books clean to the floor. 

“‘S’okay,” Otabek said under his breath as he held Yuri’s busted ankle in his hands. He had finished taping it up and was applying the splint; his palms broad and firm and if Yuri hadn’t been in so much pain it would have probably felt quite nice. The room smelt of the alcohol and wood. 

Yuri spat out the spoon.

“Fucking hurts,” he said through gritted teeth, “But better.”

“Not a break,” said Otabek, affixing the second splint, “Bad dislocation. If we keep it up and you rest… should be okay.”

“How do you know what to do anyway?”

Otabek shrugged.

“I help out in town sometimes,” he said, “Kids twist their ankles all the time.”

“Hrmph,” said Yuri. 

Outside the rain began to hammer in earnest on the wooden roof and the small windows. Distantly, thunder rumbled like a river outgrowing its banks. It was a balm, and it made Yuri realise how exhausted he was. 

Otabek shifted closer, reaching up past Yuri’s wings for his face. Yuri jerked back, and Otabek froze. 

“Your head,” he said.

“Oh,” said Yuri. He looked away. “Sorry.”

“It’s stopped bleeding, but we should still clean it,” said Otabek. 

Wordlessly, Yuri reached up and re-tied his pony tail, pulling it higher so that it was out of the way. He winced when he accidentally brushed the egg-sized lump at the back of his head; still sticky with blood. Yuri held the bottle of alcohol for Otabek as the latter dabbed at the wound with a soft cloth. He tilted his head when nudged, and went a little cross eyed with Otabek cleaned the cuts on his face. 

_ Goddamn trees. Who knew they were so lethal? _

Otabek’s hands were very warm. He had very serious eyebrows, a strong jaw...and it was a little disarming the way he was so singularly focused on the cut on Yuri’s lip. 

“So do you have a name?” asked Otabek as he bandaged up Yuri’s left hand. 

Yuri hadn’t even realised it was so scraped up until Otabek was dousing it with alcohol. The question ruined his attempt at avoiding eye contact, and he had to consciously shuffle his wings so that any...puffing...would be less noticeable. Yuri settled for glaring at his leg instead.

“Yuri Plisetsky.”

“Yuri,” repeated Otabek in a faint accent that Yuri could not place. Then he smiled. 

And if Yuri’s feathers were fluffier than usual...well there was no one there to snitch about it.

 

* * *

 

It was hard to stop staring - but Otabek did what he always did when he got nervous: he kept his hands busy. 

He ground up the last of the Sleeping Root and Errow flowers for a mild pain-killing tea (which Yuri drank with zero complaints about the bitter taste). Then Otabek replaced the logs in the fireplace, stacking the wood so it would last the night. Soon, the house was warm enough to counter the cold wind that whistled beneath the door. 

The storm was starting to howl outside like the local pack of wolves. 

“I’m going to make some food,” said Otabek, watching Yuri work his fingers through the feathers of his left wing. They were irridescent, the fire and lamplight making them shine like tiny jewels. Tiny feathers kept drifting onto the table, and Yuri was pulling out every other feather, muttering to himself. 

Yuri looked up. 

“I’m starving,” he said, mouth in a determined frown that was completely undermined by the hopeful shine in his eyes. 

Otabek’s stomach did a backflip. 

_ Get it together. _

“Should get warmer by the fire,” he said, shifting on his hooves, “Also more comfortable with blankets. Come on, I’ll help you.”

For a moment, the avian looked as if he was going to insist to walk - but after a short pause, he just held out his arms in acquiescence. Unable to keep the smile off his face, Otabek carefully hooked one arm underneath where the wings arched from shoulder blades, and hooked his other arm underneath Yuri’s knee. 

He wondered if all avians were this light boned. Even with his wings, which almost reached the floor when folded in, Yuri weighed hardly anything. None of his books had very complete information on avians, and Otabek was almost bursting with questions. He swallowed them and lifted Yuri from the table. Yuri swung one bony arm over the back of Otabek’s neck. 

Up this close, and without any wolves chasing them through the forest, Otabek could see tiny soft feathers at Yuri’s temples and hairline. They were the same colour as his hair, but faded into lavender gloss closer to his nape - just like the feathers crowning the crest of each wings. 

Yuri coughed, eyes fixed on Otabek’s shoulder. 

“Rude to stare,” he said. 

Otabek flushed. 

“Sorry,” he said, quickly sidestepping the table and taking them to the main part part of the house. 

In all honesty it wasn’t so much a house as a large spacious wooden cabin. Thick blankets and study pillows crowded the corner next to the fire, where Otabek usually slept or rested. On the opposite end of the cabin was the kitchen and table, which he also used as a workbench. 

Folding his forelegs, he lowered Yuri onto the bed. Yuri grabbed the biggest pillow and shoved it under his hurt leg. Then he leaned forwards with a groan of relief, folding himself in half as he  stretched both of his wings out either side. 

It was the most beautiful thing Otabek had ever seen. 

He didn’t know if all Avians had feathers like this, but Yuri had the same vibrant outer feathers he had seen on the forest hummingbirds - glossy and tessellated like the scales of a fish. The longer, broader feathers were pale gold like the colour of his hair, and reminded Otabek of flax in summer. 

Yuri was wearing some kind of back-to-front shirt which opened in the back to make way for his wings. Otabek could count every knob on the curve of his spine. He swallowed hard. 

“Ugh,” said Yuri, unfolding and holding a bent feather in his hand. It was one of the more colourful ones, but badly bent.  Yuri tossed it off the blankets with a disgusted scowl. 

“They’re ruined,” he complained, yanking out another feather - seemingly oblivious to Otabek’s wince. “It’s going to take me forever to get them back to shape...I look like a haystack!  _ Ugh.  _ Almost as bad as stupid pigeon pie. So ugly.”

“I think they look beautiful,” said Otabek without thinking. 

Yuri’s face snapped up and they stared at eachother for a long, mortifying minute. 

Otabek felt like someone hit him across the back of his head - he could only stare while a voice in his head just repeated  _ what, what, what,  _ over and over. 

Quickly, Otabek straightened - backing up and escaping to the other side of the cabin. 

“I’ll cook,” he said over his shoulder, “...I…. cook now.”

A moment. 

“...okay,” came Yuri’s voice, sounding confused. 

Otabek wanted to slam his face into the wall until he just went to sleep, but he got the carrots and potatoes instead. 

He wasn’t going to look up. 

He was going to chop the vegetables  _ in silence _ , and then prepare the herbs  _ in silence _ and never, ever talk to another person ever again because apparently living alone had destroyed his ability to not totally embarrass himself like a mule. 

His face felt uncomfortably hot, and Obabek hastily threw all the vegetables into the pot. He skinned and cleaned the rabbits on autopilot, salting two to store in the larder and preparing one for today. He stoked the kitchen fire and set the pot to boil. He put the bottle of alcohol away and quickly herded the stray feathers into a spare jar. 

Behind him, the fire crackled. Outside, the rain thrummed, relentless and steady. 

By the time he had finished cooking, and plucked up enough courage to venture back to the other side of the table...Yuri was asleep. He was curled up on his good side, his leg still propped up on the pillow; one wing half spread over his shoulder like a big feathery blanket, hiding Yuri from view. 

Otabek settled himself down slowly so as not to spill the food, curling his legs beneath him and then shuffling them to the side so he was resting against the pillows and the wall. 

He nudged Yuri with his knee. 

The wing shifted slightly. 

He nudged again. 

The wing lifted just enough to reveal Yuri’s face. He blinked blearily, but his gaze sharpened when he smelled the food. 

“I hope it’s okay,” said Otabek as Yuri tucked his wings neatly behind him to sit up. “It’s just vegetables and rabbit.”

“...smells good,” said Yuri, rubbing his eyes with a fist. He shifted this way and that, trying to find support for his wings whilst keeping his leg up. In the end, they piled the pillows on one side so Yuri could sandwich himself up between it and Otabek’s flank - wings akimbo. 

Then Yuri more or less inhaled the food (and some of Otabek’s), much to Otabek’s incredulity. 

“...what,” said Yuri, slurping stew. 

“...nothing,” said Otabek, quickly turning back to his own food. He could barely ignore the slight tickle of feathers at his back, and the way the corner of the wing-bone pressed against his spine. It was  _ so soft. _

“I was training all day before I ...fell,” said Yuri, sounding a little defensive, “I’m hungry.”

“You need to eat after an injury,” agreed Otabek.

“I have a very, very fast metabolism,” said Yuri, voice muffled from behind his bowl. 

“Ah,” said Otabek. “I thought avians only ate fish.”

The bowl lowered. 

“Why would we  _ just  _ eat fish?” said Yuri, licking his spoon. A pause. “...do you have fish?”

“I could try catch some once the storm is passed,” said Otabek, “We’re not far from the river.”

Yuri put his empty bowl to the side, brushing the arch of his wing in what seemed like a habitual motion. He’d start at the top, then card his fingers downwards; over and over. Yuri yawned, then hissed when the cut on his lip reopened. He shuffled his wings so that they were behind him and he turned in the blankets so he was curved up against Otabek’s stomach. 

“I’ll get more Errow flowers too,” said Otabek, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat, “for the pain.”

Yuri smiled at him, exhausted but genuine. 

“Thank you,” he said. Yuri stifled another yawn; reached up and tugged his ponytail free. He played with the hair-tie, gaze lowered to his hands. “And thanks for….you know.”

Otabek wasn’t sure if the warmth was from the fire or something else. 

But he just said: “I know. You’re welcome.”

They both stared  into the fire. It crackled on; oblivious. 

 

 

The next time Otabek found the courage to look across, Yuri’s eyes were closed; hair strewn across his face and on the pillow underneath his cheek. His breathing was even and slow; his heartbeat a unfamiliar but comforting tandem against Otabek’s wrist.

“How is your ankle feeling?” said Otabek, very quietly. 

But Yuri was already asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> ..this is my attempt at writing faster paced fic omg crying. Thanks heaps for **[Primagrine](primagrine.tumblr.com)** for betaing! NB: the russian is just swearing - I'll insert the translations but totally not important! If you're keen, [**here is the soundtrack**.](https://open.spotify.com/user/fishielistens/playlist/08KJ7FFLxvGTASrgNd7nnv) The art book/graphic novel will be available sometime after the 5th of March I think, but i'm excited!!! **[Maccalon](http://maccalon.tumblr.com/)**  is currently having exams so RIP us. 
> 
> Some notes: Yuri's anatomy is very similar to a hummingbird, and i'll explore this further in this fic. In fact the whole YOI-in-watercast thing allows me to explore avian diversity (and social issues) a lot more alksdfjas so if people turn out keen, I'll do the Victuuri centric fic too!!! (both Viktor and Yuuri are both avians :3). If you have any feedback at all, please let me know!!! 


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